This Too Solid Flesh Will Melt
Actually, since about April, by rough under-estimate, I'd say it's been raining 75% of the time. I think the capricious gods have made this a monsoon area. It's been a nasty year everywhere; mother nature has really caught up on bitchslapping the world. If you didn't believe she wanted us off her planet *before*...
The rain has been nasty, and I'd feel like a petty wuss complaining about it, even with my asthma, allergies, etc except: my house is dissolving.
And it's not a sugar house.
It's a new house. It was built two years ago, and the past two weeks my workroom has had the smell of rot. Not a tad. But like a herd of at least thirty wet dogs were in here romping. And perhaps they are zombie dogs.
This has put a real dent in my output. The endless game of what is that *smell*? And as floors were scrubbed and chairs and shelves removed, no amount of spousal denial could escape it: it's the walls.
My house is small, but as large as I could possibly afford. The contactors randomly changed things to the plans without consulting me, things they couldn't / wouldn't fix. They killed my linen closet by expanding the furnace room. They put a hanging light fixture over a few feet the wrong way, so it's not only NOT over the table, but hanging in a perfect place to brain yourself on a regular basis. They redesigned my kitchen cupboards, after I had approved the plans, surprising us with--oh lovely!--smaller useless cabinets and taking away all silverware drawers. They stole my self-purchased adjustable multisetting showerhead and instead installed a static one-setting cheap piece of carp.
Just a few examples.
We had to endlessly chase and bitch and scream to get them to even finish the place, and in the end we had to do most of detail work ourselves.
I, personally, held to (and still hold to) we should have just built the place ourselves. Because the 'professionals' are anything but.
But, despite all the anguish, I love my house. I wouldn't let them paint the walls, because they would only allow me white. So I have wonderful lush colour on my walls (my kitchen / living room, for example is caramel butterscotch), and the land may have been raped by clearcutting, and won't recover in my lifetime, but now that I'm here, nobody will touch it again. Even my will says so. So it's green and quiet, and will stay that way.
I can't think of why else I love it, or even like it. Because, right now, I hate it. I hate everything. I mean, it's ROTTING, and how the hell can I afford to fix that? Because you just know the warranty won't cover anything that actually goes wrong. We'll prolly have to bulldoze the place and salt the earth.
If only they had left enough trees here for me to go off and live in the woods.
Or maybe I just need to put my fist through some walls and go sob for a while.